Change of mind
by IDair
Summary: Wendy tries extreme measures to escape Pan, but things don't go exactly as she planned. Oneshot. Darkish.


**Title:** Change of mind

 **Summary:** Wendy tries extreme measures to escape Pan, but things don't go exactly as she planned.

 **Timeline:** AU for the Rumple dad thing. None of that here, really. Pan is no father.

 **Main Characters:** Peter Pan, Wendy Darling

 **Disclaimer:** **Blah, blah, blah,** **I do** **n't** **own OUAT** **.**

 **Warning: please mind the whole amount of darkness of both OUAT!Wendy and OAUT!Peter. (Those little fuckers.)**

 **Update for all the lovely people who still follow _Belonging_ : the next chapter is in the workings. I'm sorry, guys, I love you but I hate editing with passion.**

 **Enjoy this in the meanwhile?**

* * *

Wendy has assisted to _a thousand_ fights between the Lost Boys, since she returned to Neverland the second time.

Pan provides them with all sort of weapon so they can have all the best of _fun_.

She's watched them wrestling and sword fighting -a savage fire in their eyes -just like Pan liked them. She's watched them cutting their cheeks and losing their fingers, when they were _lucky_.

Cost of the game, Peter said, dismissing it with a quirk of an eyebrow and a shrug of his shoulder.

Pure, complete _savageness_ , Wendy would say, if only they _asked_ her.

So it was kind of easy for her to sneak in and steal a dagger from them, when no one noticed.

The trickiest part came later.

Wendy looks down at the knife in her hand and takes a breath.

She never used a weapon before. She never fought with anything in her life.

But she doesn't have to do that. To _kill_ him.

If she plays her cards well, she doesn't have to.

She just needs some leverage to get what she wants.

She just need to be a threat enough for him to set her free, to let her go.

She doesn't have to do _that_.

 _Kill Peter Pan._

But suddenly the idea of spilling his blood is not as horrifying as she knows it should be.

Because she'll be free, finally _free_ of him for good. And maybe she could save some of the Boys too. The ones who cried loud at night, the ones who actually wished for nothing but going back home.

* * *

She can do this.

She's smaller, lighter, she can do this, she can catch him off guard.

She just needs to remain in control.

Breath in and breath out.

She just needs to be _fast_.

She knows he's gonna come her way, to her treehouse, like he does almost every night.

She hides behind a tree, ears filled with her thumping heartbeat filling her ears.

Pan is making his way between the branches of the jungle and Wendy just _acts_.

She jumps him and pushes him to the ground as hard as she can.

She straddles his waist, blocking him to the ground with her weight and pinning his arms down to his sides with her free hand. And then she presses the knife to his throat.

"Let me go home!" she cries. "Set my brothers free and let me go _home_ " she hissed.

Peter just blinks, his expression switches from surprised to intrigued in a matter of seconds.

Then, he laughs, breathy and amused, and even when Wendy presses the knife harder against his throat, his mouth curls up soon into a wild smirk.

"My, my, I gotta say I'm _impressed._ " His green eyes shines as he lowers them quickly to the lame of her dagger, an absolutely cocky grin is firmly planted on his lips. "And what exactly are you planning to do with that, Wendy? Kill me?" He looks down, this time at her trembling hand and his smirk only grows wider.

"Yes" she breathes but her voice is just as unsteady as her hand. "Yes" she repeats "I will _kill_ you so you better do what I asked. Set my brothers free and let _me_ go home"

Pan simply laughs again. Wendy swallows down. When she meets his eyes again a clear flash of pride blazes for a second into them.

He's… _pleased._

He really is amazed and overjoyed to watch Wendy Darling in such a state.

Wild, reckless, _ruined_.

Acting _exactly_ like one of his Lost Boys. When he knows perfectly she's most definitely not one of them.

He takes a moment to stare at her.

Immaculate nightgown crumpled and dirtied, her blonde, messy curls falling around her face, and a bright, red flush on her cheeks.

In that moment, she really is a _sight_.

But if Peter would have to choose one thing about her, above all, it'd be her _eyes_.

The burning look in her eyes, the _fire_.

Because even if he can feel her entire body practically quiver, shaky and scared, against his, her eyes, her eyes are not scared at all.

In one fluid, rapid motion, Peter sits up. His arms slide around the small of her back and Wendy gasps, suddenly conscious of their position.

She's… _straddling_ his lap.

She blushes deeper, in an instant, red turns into deep crimson on her cheeks as blood flows quickly to her face.

Her breath skips.

This is not _good._

She can feel the rough material of his trousers scratching against her legs and the buckle of his belt pressing almost in an uncomfortable way against her belly through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She can feel his hand roaming _so_ slowly on her back, his fingertips skimming over the line of her backbone.

She can feel the heat of his fingers trough the cotton.

The heat of _him_ underneath her. All around her.

It suddenly makes her open her mouth to gasp for air, to _whimper._

Because even if she just threatened his life, there's something _worshipful_ in the way he's holding her.

It occurs it to her that it always felt like that with him. The few times he did touch her. When he wanted to _mock_ her, taunt her and make her squirm. Nothing more than brushes of fingers over her cheekbones, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, or just the feeling of his hands over hers, but still. The few times he did touch her, that mix of possessive grip meant to hurt -she most certainly knew that- iron circling her wrist, poison caressing her face, suddenly turned into something else. Something completely different. Something that was almost graceful, feather-like and _warm_. She wonders how it was possible. There were no just middle ways with him.

Wendy shivers.

Oh, no this is not good _at all._

She needs to get away. Get away from him as _fast_ as possible.

She should have known that it was going to end bad. It was a terrible, _terrible_ , reckless idea.

She tries to move the slightest but she can't.

 _Of course_ , she can't.

His arms hold her to him, so, so close and so firmly and she's shaking so much it's impossible for her to make any movements at all.

And she still has her the dagger pressed against his throat, even if lightly than before. Her knuckles tremble and her fingers grasp the knife so hard, she swore it'd fall out of her grip any moment.

"Well, since this happens to be _my_ field of expertise, I might offer you some tips, right?" he tells her, voice dragged out and still amused, but also similar to a low whisper. "You have to straighten your grip and then press the knife right against the carotid" he instructs her like someone would teach one how to cut off some plant and not talking about the best way to slit someone's _throat_.

"Here" He actually corrects her grip, pressing the knife against his throat once again, and when she feels his hands covering her she swears she hears herself gasp, but no sound escapes her mouth for some reason.

"Go ahead" he hissed, inches from her face. "Slit my throat" he doesn't really smirk now, but his eyes, hard and serious, shine again and the corner of his lip curls up automatically.

Wendy is paralyzed. She looks up at him. Her eyes widen in terror but when she meets his, suddenly, she knows what he's playing at.

As she realizes all her _foolishness_.

Because this was Pan. And only Pan would explain to her the best way to kill a person like it was a game. Nothing more than a game. (Everything is a game to him.) A game she could never even _hope_ to win.

Because seriously, what was she planning to do? Threaten him? Kill him? As if you could kill Pan just like that. Who knows how many people tried it already and _failed?_ And her? What did _she_ think she could do? A simple, little girl who barely hold a wooden sword in her hands playing pirates with her little brothers?

She can't kill him.

She never even _thought_ about killing someone in her entire life.

Wendy flinches, her hands quiver and Peter, eyes narrowed and eyebrows raised, waits.

It seems like he's holding back from grinning wildly. Or laughing at her out loud again.

"You were pretty clever, Wendy, I'll admit it." She did catch him off-guard after all, didn't she? "Or maybe coming from you, it shouldn't really be a surprise? I _really_ shouldn't expect any less from you, should I?" he finds her eyes. Wendy flinches. Did he... did he let her do that? He was expecting that? "I gotta say, I even appreciate your choice of weapon. A dagger, quite practical, isn't it?" He choose one himself to carry on his belt, after all. "But it has its flaws. It spills too much _blood,_ you know? And I'd _hate it "_ he smirks wide _"_ for it to ruin your pretty," his fingers brushes the raised up hem of her nightgown -when did that happen? When they fell on the ground?- reaching to the bare skin of her thigh. "little dress" he finishes, his breath on her face and she trembles completely under his barely lingering touch.

She swallows.

His face is suddenly _so_ close to hers. She can see the freckles on his cheeks.

He moves imperceptibly. The tip of nose touches hers and she's sure her heart beats out of her chest.

He shifts his head to the side slowly, his lips brushing against her cheek until he presses them over hers-just slightly until his lips press over hers.

He _kisses_ her.

One of his hand moves up, slips the dagger out of her fingers and drops it to the ground, while the other open and curl at the base of her spine, pulling her even closer to him.

* * *

Wendy never meant to open her mouth.

Really, she never _meant_ to.

She had no intention to part her lips whatsoever.

In fact, she still heard every voices in her head yelling to _get the hell away_ from him. Or at least not letting him do whatever... Who did he think he was? He thought he could _kiss_ her just like that? After what he said to her, nevertheless.

But she only finds herself gasping for air and she only finds his lips, soft and warm over hers.

One of her hand presses on his shoulder not sure if to push him away or _what else._ She just had to do something, but it seemed every single one of her movements became too weak now. She ends up curling her fingers into the fabric of his tunic and Peter just kisses her harder.

His lips hot, wet and suddenly demanding against hers.

He pulls her closer, presses her hard against his chest and his hips shift under hers. Wendy makes a choked sound against his mouth.

She feels one of his hand sliding over her leg again and this time her thighs, completely out of instinct, wrap tight around him his waist, ankles crossing behind his back.

One of her arm slides around his neck, fingers grasping the hair at nape of his neck to pull him towards her. When he pushes his tongue inside her mouth, she shuts her eyes open, completely taken back by the feeling.

Unsure of what she should do, she squirms and twists in his arms, but he doesn't give her time to back away. (Really, where could she go? She was _inside_ his arms.)

He swallows every sound she makes, sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, until she _whimpers_.

And then, just like that, he pulls away.

She looks stunned.

She's completely breathless. Her cheek flush, lips swollen, skin on fire right under his hands.

That's how Wendy Darling looks. _Wrecked._

 _He_ wrecked her. And he loves it.

"So..." he murmurs, the tip of his tongue wetting his lower lip, "I assume you've changed your mind?" he grins, and her only satisfaction is hearing exaclty how _husky_ his voice sounds. His chest is heavy as well, and his eyes are all dark but a malicious glinting still lightens them up.

He leans in again to press his lips to the tender skin of her neck.

He bites her throat lightly. He fingers still clenching in his hair.

Wendy's answer is nothing but a breathy moan.

Peter's lips curls against her neck.

She never sees his smirk, as _sharp_ as the dagger she'd pressed to his throat just moments before.

* * *

 **It's been longer than I'd like, I kinda feel rusty at this writing thing… I hope this was at least alright?**

 **As always, a _huge_ thank you for reading. **


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